


The Young Wolf & Vampire of Kaer Morhen

by Cirilla Godefroy (Cumbersnatched)



Series: The Vampire of Kaer Morhen [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Broken Toys, Bullying, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Mending Hearts, duel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 22:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20803961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersnatched/pseuds/Cirilla%20Godefroy
Summary: A bully steals Geralt's most precious possession--the first gift he could ever remember receiving--and he must fight to get it back. As a result, a new friendship is formed in the most unlikely of places.





	The Young Wolf & Vampire of Kaer Morhen

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by this piece of art by AKI (@aki4500199) on Twitter.  
https://twitter.com/aki4500199/status/1177773929529667586?s=09
> 
> AU universe where Dettlaff lives at Kaer Morhen.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Give Roach back, Clovis!” Geralt jumped up and tried to snatch the horse doll away from the other boy who smirked at him, barely keeping it away. He and Clovis were about the same size, but the red head had slightly longer arms which irritated Geralt to no end.

“Witcher’s don’t need toys, baby Geralt!” The red head taunted him, twisting away as Geralt lunged to grab Roach.

Geralt’s cheeks were red, and his eyes burned in frustration. Roach had been a gift—the first gift he could ever remember receiving! “Roach is not a toy!” he yelled stubbornly.

“Toys are for babies!” Clovis goaded him before turning to run down the steps towards Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. Geralt sprinted after him, jumping the crumbling steps and rolling as he hit the ground. He grunted at the impact and pushed off, speeding after the red headed bully.

“GIVE ROACH BACK!” he yelled through gritted teeth. He pumped his arms—Clovis dodged around a corner, through a stone archway and Geralt followed just in time to see the boy jump over a ledge onto the top of a shed, angling towards the stables.

Geralt saw the path and adjusted his course. He ran the opposite way to the right, down the wall to the end towards the stables and launched off the corner, angling such that he landed atop the boy.

The air went out of him as he knocked the boy down and they tumbled to the ground. Pain lanced through his shoulder and knee, but he ignored it and was up in a flash.

“Give Roach back!” Clovis was up too, covered in dirt and dust with a small bloody scrape on his cheek.

“What’r you gona do if I don’t, baby witcher?” he taunted.

“I think you should be more worried about what _I will do_, young pup.” A cool voice threatened.

Geralt’s eyes widened as an older Witcher with short cropped brown hair strolled up behind the red headed child.

It was Master Sorel, one of Kaer Morhen’s trainers and a voice on the council.

Clovis’s eyes widened and color drained from his red face as he spun around to face the older Witcher who stood over him. The Witcher wore a long tan tunic pulled together with a thick belt, and a long sleeved linen tunic underneath with dark brown boots. His expression was calm, almost serene, but the fire in his glowing amber eyes bespoke of an entirely different emotion.

“Do we have a problem here, Clovis?”

“N-no sir.” Clovis looked down towards the ground, whether from respect or embarrassment, Geralt wasn’t sure. Roach was clasped behind the boys back, but much as Geralt wished to snatch it back, he knew what tradition required.

“If that is the case, I believe you know how we settle disputes such as these at Kaer Morhen.”

Geralt schooled his features to show no emotion.

Clovis straightened. “Yes Master Clovis.” The boy’s voice was full of confidence but Geralt could see the boys hands grip Roach tighter behind his back.

“Then give Roach to me and head to the training yard.”

Geralt obediently moved past Clovis and Master Sorel, his head held high. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy give Roach back to the Witcher and follow behind him.

The walk to the training yard was short. Several witcher’s trained nearby, either sparring with each other, or on practice dummies. One sat in the shade of the smithing area, sharpening his steel sword, though he looked up as they passed with interested glowing yellow eyes.

Geralt hid a grin as he retrieved a wooden practice sword, he couldn’t wait to go through the Trial of the Grasses so he could be like them! Just a few more years and a lot more training, and he was almost ready!

As he turned, practice sword in hand, he felt a fierce confidence come over him. He was going to win this! He would win, and Clovis would never bother him again!

Clovis squared off with him then, the same fire in his green eyes.

Geralt’s hand tightened around his wooden sword and he readied his offensive stance. The sword felt too light, but that meant he could be quick.

“You will fight until first blood. You may begin.”

He lunged forward and spun as Clovis swung at him, then used his momentum to bring his wooden sword back and crack Clovis across the back.

The red head cried out and spun around. Geralt resisted smirking at him and took his stance again, this time in between offensive and defensive. Clovis was angry—but Geralt was ready.

Clovis came at him again, this time more cautiously. Geralt circled him, expressionless. No emotion—no giving anything away!

The red head lunged, swinging at him. Geralt parried and twisted to the side as the boy slid past and rapped him on the back of his knees. He tore after the red head then, not allowing himself to get too confident, but not wanting to prolong the fight either. Quick and clean fights only—torture was below them.

The red head spun and parried the attack he’d aimed at Clovis’s neck and in a flurry of movement Geralt felt a sharp pain in his side.

Enraged, he pressed and Clovis parried. They warred back and forth as well as two young boys could, each receiving a fair amount of bruises and welts in the process.

Finally Clovis seemed to have had enough and ducked back. He swiped up some dirt, throwing it into Geralt’s eyes.

“Hey--!” Geralt blinked and wiped at his eyes but it was too late. A sharp thwapp at the side of his head and he stumbled to the ground, just barely catching himself with one hand as he fell.

Geralt clutched at his ear in pain, his eyes blinded and burning, but he refused to cry. He could feel the warm trickle of blood running down his neck and didn’t need to be told that he lost. “That was dirty! You’re a dirty fighter!” his voice was strained as he rubbed the dirt out of his eyes.

“Sometimes when faced with an impossible challenge one must fall upon a last resort, no matter how distasteful it may be.” Master Sorel coached wisely, though there was no sympathy in his voice as he turned to Clovis. “Your prize, young pup.”

He shakily stood and stared in horror as Roach was handed over to the red head. His Roach…the gift the Vampire of Kaer Morhen had given to him on his name day.

Clovis took it, and with a well-schooled look showing no emotion, tore it in two and threw it to the ground.

Geralt schooled his expression as well, though his eyes darkened perceptively as he bit the inside of his cheek. He tasted blood, but it wasn’t his blood that he wanted.

His eyes followed Clovis as the red head left the training yard with a spring in his step, and Master Sorel continued to watch him carefully. After a moment of watching the motionless Geralt, the Witcher stooped to pick up Roach and brought it over to him.

“Perhaps,” Sorel said in a low voice, “you may take this to _him_ and he’ll fix it.”

Geralt’s gaze shifted to the Master Witcher, and his voice held no emotion as he spoke. “Witcher’s do not need toys.”

“While this may be true, witcher’s still need friends, even if they’re few and far between. Perhaps in mending this, you may acquire a new one.”

He considered the Master’s words and rolled them around for a few moments before nodding. They were very wise, and made a lot of sense. But…

“…he does not like to be disturbed.” Geralt shifted his gaze to the northern most tower of Kaer Morhen, where the Vampire recused himself.

“I feel he will make an exception, young pup. Go get yourself cleaned up and gather your courage. He will be waiting.”

Geralt looked up at the Master, wide eyed.

Sorel just smiled down at him knowingly and held Roach out. Now that it had been discarded, the horse was free to whoever would want it.

His schooled expression slipping a little, he excitedly grabbed Roach and took off towards the keep. Geralt flew up the crumbling stairs, dodged around barrels and crates of bombs and jumped over low walls. He only stopped long enough once inside to change into clean clothes and get rid of the blood—then he was off again towards the north tower.

As he approached the base of the stairway, he slowed, his gaze traveling up the path. The tower was dark aside from the shadows shifting directly around the occasional walled sconce. The stairs were crumbling in places too—no issues for a vampire that could ‘puff up’ of course! But he had to be careful! Geralt slowly made his way up to the tower, being quiet as a mouse. He hoped the vampire wouldn’t be bothered by his presence. He grew anxious then as he trekked his way up, wondering if he was about to be scolded for losing the gift so carefully crafted for him and for it being destroyed. Tears welled in his eyes then and he wiped them away furiously. It wasn’t his fault Clovis was mean! He was probably just jealous! He’d show him one day—he’d beat him…

He sniffed and wiped at his eyes again. Before long he was at the top. The broad oaken door, worn with age, was cracked open. Light from a fire gleamed through lighting a portion of the stairway.

Geralt crept forward and hesitantly peered inside, his heart pounding in his chest.

The room wasn’t all that large, taking up only one side of the tower. But what space it did have was lined with shelves. Shelves that were covered in toys at various stages of completion, or that were broken and awaiting repair. A fire burned in a hearth near the back of the room and several fur and patterned rugs covered the floor. A bed lay in the corner, and In front of the hearth sat a desk, covered by tools and trinkets. The vampire sat there with his back to Geralt in a large chair, fussing away at something and humming to himself.

Geralt watched the vampire and after a moment, the humming stopped.

“Do come in, young witcher. I do not bite.” A warm voice rolled out into the room, deep and almost enchanting in quality.

“I—I apologize for intruding sir. I can see you’re busy. I’ll come back—“

“Nonsense young wolf, come in, I insist.” The vampire stopped what he was doing and slowly spun his chair around. The vampire’s skin was pale, though it was hard to tell exactly how pale in shadow. Long raven locks framed the vampire’s classic face which was brightened by crystal blue eyes. He wore a worn black long sleeved jerkin and dusty black trousers with black boots. He smiled warmly at Geralt, careful not to show his fangs.

He appreciated that—he was nervous enough as it was as he crept inside the vampire’s shop and stood before him.

Crystal blue eyes shifted to the parts in his hands and the vampire frowned as he looked back up at him.

“I—It wasn’t me. I was taking care of it I swear! Clovis—“ Geralt frantically sought out the words to defend himself and explain, but the vampire shushed him with a clawed hand over his mouth.

“It matters not the who or the how. Give it to me young wolf. I can mend this.” The clawed hand pulled away and gently took the two pieces of Roach from his grasp.

“I’m sorry—“ Geralt’s voice wavered, “I know you worked hard on it for me…”

“Shush young one, I’ll be but a few moments.” The vampire spun the chair around and Geralt followed around to the side, tears in the corner of his eyes. He desperately hoped the vampire could fix it for him…

His hands grasped the arm of the chair as he watched the vampire work with quick methodical movements. Relief filled him as Roach started coming back together and after another few moments, Roach was whole again.

“There,” the vampire smiled warmly and handed Roach back over to Geralt who took it with a look akin to disbelief.

“It’s almost good as new—“ Geralt said softly as he turned it over in his hands, studying it.

The vampire turned his chair to face him and nodded, practically glowing with satisfaction.

Overcome with emotion and happiness, Geralt threw himself at the vampire and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you so much Master Vampire!” His voice was muffled by the vampire’s jerkin.

“It was my pleasure young wolf,” the vampire rumbled. Arms wrapped lightly around him, returning the hug. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Master Sorel’s words echoed in his mind and he pulled away, all pretense of schooling gone and he grinned up at the vampire. “Will you be my friend?”

Something flickered across the vampire’s expression, then he beamed. “Yes…I would be honored, young wolf. I am Dettlaff van der Eretein.”

Geralt settled himself back to the floor and grinned back up at Dettlaff, the Vampire of Kaer Morhen.

“I’m Geralt of Rivia.”

**Author's Note:**

> They're precious I luff'm. Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed! :)


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